


Stolen Fabric & Comfort

by fuckyeahlucifersupernatural



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Hand Jobs, Light Bondage, M/M, Samifer - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-09-28
Updated: 2013-09-28
Packaged: 2017-12-27 21:32:25
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,649
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/983851
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fuckyeahlucifersupernatural/pseuds/fuckyeahlucifersupernatural
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sam's pretty certain he caught the archangel nesting.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Stolen Fabric & Comfort

**Author's Note:**

> Seeee? Just like I promised, some porn for your morning coffee.
> 
> **Disclaimer:** This is fan-run and this writer is not officially affiliated with the CW Network, Kripke Enterprises, Warner Bros., and other official affiliates tied to the TV Show "Supernatural." This user does not claim ownership to the official content of Supernatural and does not seek profit off of the work produced presently. Plagiarism of this current story will not be tolerated and will be reported following AO3's terms of services. The stories, additional characters I create, are mine. This story was not created for profit. Making profit is deemed copyright infringement unless sanctioned by copyright holders (i.e. CW Network, Kripke Enterprises, Warner Bros., etc.). Copyright infringement can range from paying a fine to actual jail time. Please do not claim this story as yours! Please do not sell this story! Please do not reproduce this story! All violators will be reported and dealt with severely! 

Sam’s hands are held together, fingers threading together and mouth pulled apart by a drawn out sigh, easing into the overly soft bed. There’s a reverent mouth in the middle of his pectoral muscles, kissing the warm skin until it’s flushed and almost cool to the touch. The hunter feels as if he’s been placed on an altar, meant to be worshiped and the focus of the sermon, long legs stretched out and muscles in his abdomen fluttering. Staring down, chin tucking in, there’s a head of tousled gold in his sight along pink lips that mark and kiss. 

The hunter couldn’t have predicted this even if he tried, having spent the majority of the day observing the Morningstar pilfering blankets, pillows, sheets and comforters into his room. Curiosity got the better of him, peeking into his room to find his bed covered and arranged with the stolen goods. There are mattress pads underneath him, Dean’s down and feathered comforter that he was possessive over and enough pillows to swamp the bed. Sam thought of nesting. Of birds picking leaves and twigs to make their home, but instead of Lucifer tucking himself into the space, it was Sam who occupied it. 

“Beautiful,” the archangel mumbles into his skin and it’s not the first time. Not the first time he has breathed praise across his skin, often in foreign tongues that leaves the hair on thighs standing and a shiver snagging and curling about his spinal cord. Each time it makes Sam’s fingers itch to touch the archangel, to push his fingers through the obnoxious mess of his hair or dig his fingers into his jaw. But his hands remain held together, bound by black tape and an unspoken agreement.

There’s a level of trust in the bound wrists, perhaps that more pleasing to the archangel than his spread legs, knees bent and arousal flushed against his lower abdomen. Sam moves his arms so his hands are above his head, giving the archangel more room to kiss across his torso. The sharp difference between their skin’s temperature makes his toes stretch, heel pushing back and fighting off the urge to squirm. He knows no matter how hard he writhes on the bed, Lucifer’s tongue would find a way to tauntingly swipe across his nipples and breathe innocently down upon the wet nub. But he does so anyways, feeling cool fingers push down on his stomach and hips fall down on Sam’s bare pelvic bone. 

When he arches, hips raised, his cock rubs against the fabric of Lucifer’s jeans and the scratch of the zipper’s teeth. A strangled groan vibrates out of Sam’s throat, echoing in the painfully hollow space of Sam’s room. It’s quick to shift to a complaint, combusted pupils barely contained by hazel staring accusingly at the smirking archangel. 

“You _have_ to close the door, Lucifer!” Sam orders but the archangel makes a face as if it’s highly up to debate on the importance of one door being closed. It’s been a repeated plea but the archangel feigns ignorance and deafness on the request, thoroughly content to leave it open for anyone to walk by and see. That pitch of authority is missing in Sam’s words, instead coated with a greedy heat that makes even Sam’s neck turn warm shades of pink. 

The blue-eyed angel returns back to Sam’s limbs, fingers reaching down to push their way into Sam’s pubic hair, deliberately ignoring and sneaking under Sam’s cock. Lucifer admires the struggle Sam puts up to keep the noises gushing out of this throat to a whisper, muscles tense and stomach almost sucking in. Blunt nails scratch across the skin on his public bone, the frozen band on Lucifer’s ring finger making Sam start. The whine is _loud_. Loud enough to have Lucifer answering back with one of his own, guttural and low, returning the notes in a different key.

_“Luc-Lucifer, please!”_

The Morningstar hums in thought before disappearing, body weight leaving the bed. Sam waits to see the blond close the door, but instead he picks through the mess of stolen hoodies, jackets and other thick clothes he’s snagged through his previous adventures. Rising back out, he holds up what looks like...Dean’s tie? Or is that Castiel’s? It’s another foreshadowing of who is going to be walking past his bedroom and Sam is not going to admit it but it made his pulse quicken and his breath catch in the base of his gullet. 

Lucifer returns, carefully muffling Sam with the tie, the silk tie and Sam musters the energy to look unamused. He kisses his mouth, silk blocking the meeting between their lips, the hunter grumbling and nothing more. He can take the tie off. He can swing his legs over the bed and close the door. He can break out of the binding on his wrists. Yet instead he remains put, the main attraction in this sea of stolen fabric and comfort. 

There’s a possessive _mine_ pushing through his skull, bright around the edges and making his ribs feel tight, forcing him to breathe ravenously for oxygen to balance it out. 

Fingers trail lazily across Sam’s marked chest, outlining the neglected cock dripping against the skin of his abdomen. Sam shudders before stilling, eyes watching Lucifer attentively. 

An icy finger runs across the tip, rubbing against the frenulum, watching blood create a ruby red flush over the places he touched. Sam’s sucking in the air, cloth muffling whatever words are beginning to push out. Lucifer lets the pad of his fingers run across the slit, watching the muscles in Sam’s abdomen flutter and his entire body nearly curl up itself, a whine carrying through the sound waves. Lucifer turns to the Winchester, arctic blue peering down at him through half-lidded eyes, “Cold?” 

Sam nods, easing his limbs back down, observing the archangel with suspicion and glimmers of annoyance. The door to his room is _still_ open, a thought that continues to burn through his mind space. It only takes one person to walk past his room, in search of their comforters and sheets, to see the infamous Devil sitting cooly on the bed with a very naked, bound Sam Winchester. It makes heat burn his cheeks and Lucifer smiles sweetly, as if he’s snooping through his thoughts again. 

Fingers are soon curling around him, grip more on the loose side. With less warning, Lucifer lets his hand move, sliding down the thick cock. Sam is huffing and swearing, words garbled by the tie at the cold hand moving over sensitive flesh. He watches his skin whiten as the hand pushes down before bursting with heated hues, precum beading out in thick bulbs, spilling down to only be swept up with Lucifer’s hand. His hips are trembling, unsure whether to pull away or push forward into the touch. 

A thumb glides and drags across the frenulum on the up stroke, gently apply pressure that makes Sam feel as if Lucifer briefly stoppered the growing tension in his stomach. That makes him moan in coming distress, hips lifting eagerly, and then it’s gone. It’s a stop-and-start sensation that leaves him breathless and baffled, unsure of how it’s being done. Opaque white leaks out of him, not even bothered to feel embarrassed, more interested in the new sensation. 

Sam’s hips thrust upward to meet the thumb each time it teases him, disrupting the rhythm of Lucifer’s hand. It’s warmer, now. Lukewarm and causing delicious friction as he gradually tightens his grip. Sam is enraptured in the way Lucifer’s hand moves, the way that frigid ring on his finger continues to make him whimper and squirm when it runs over the tip. His stomach is fluttering again and he doesn’t recall when his breath has turned ragged or when the flush in his cheeks has crawled onto his chest. 

He’s so close. He can feel the tension budding quickly now, pushing it’s way from under his skin, tie soaked with saliva where it’s pressed against his mouth. His entrapped wrists are still above his head, fingers clutching onto the pillows as he thrusts into Lucifer’s hand. 

Then it’s gone. 

A sound of protest leaves Sam, loud and displeased against the tie, hips thrusting into the air demandingly. Lucifer watches with a wry, little smirk as Sam’s cock bobs in the air, the Winchester frowning deeply at him. 

The archangel scoots further back on the bed, leaning down and letting his hands push Sam’s thighs wide apart. Sam wishes he was given a warning because he’s certain that the entire bunker is now fully aware of his presence. Lucifer’s mouth opened and took his scrotum in, causing Sam to slump into the bed, eyes nearly rolling into the back of his skull. The noise leaving his mouth is wet and loud, feeling Lucifer hum in approval around him, making his toes curl. 

It’s so cold and his skin feels feverish trapped in Lucifer’s mouth, sensitive flesh sucked and tongued. It doesn’t help to relieve the tension, only pushing further down onto it. Sam fists into the pillows, gritting his teeth when another voice abruptly enters his ears.

 _“Sam, are you_ \--- oh.” 

Sam’s head whips around to the sound, neck burning at the quick motion, staring wide-eyed at his brother who is standing in his doorway. It’s then did his orgasm punch him in the gut, eyes clenching shut as a strangled moan tries to push through the tie. Coming in hot spurts against his abdomen, Lucifer pulls his mouth off of Sam with an obnoxiously loud slurp. 

The younger hunter is ready for Heaven to smite him where he is laid, cheeks burning red and pulling the tie out of his mouth. There’s a heavy blanket of silence and Sam can hear Dean break it, his brother taking in a sharp intake of air.

_“Dude, is that my comforter?!”_

**Author's Note:**

> _Love it? Hate it? Tell me in a review!_


End file.
